Be Strong, Walk On
by Nicole-Dilona
Summary: "I'm upset because it reminds me and I hate being reminded," his voice is shaking again, "I know how it feels Abby. I never wanted anyone, especially you, to have to feel any of that." New York goes to see Massachusetts the day after the Boston Marathon Bombing. Features America and OC States.


**Disclaimer: I do not own APH.**

**I apologize, first off, if anyone was offended that I wrote a story about such a terrible event. It was not my intention at all to use the bombings in a negative way. I wrote this to help myself work out my views on tragedies such as this, and to remind myself that life will carry on. I'm posting it in case there's a chance it could do the same for any readers. I've waited to publish this in the hopes that any readers will have had time to process the event, and that the pain will not be as fresh.**

**Thank you.**

**April 2013**

_**-And I know it aches, and your heart it breaks, and you can only take so much-**_

He arrives early Tuesday morning.

Boston is a strange mixture of quiet and loud, stillness and chaos.

New York bites his lip, the mix is familiar. It's the product of a heartbroken city.

The hospital is, of course, hectic. But the State knows where to go and soon enough he's standing at the nurses' station while she looks for his name on the permitted-to-see list.

"James Jones?"

"Yes."

"Lord," the woman mutters, "There's about fifty of you on here."

He gives a tight smile.

"I'll just buzz you back-"

A moment of panic grips his heart and he interrupts, "I'm-uh- actually going to go grab some coffee. Is it ok if I come back in just a moment?" The nurse gives him an irritated look in response.

Coffee isn't something he wants right now, but some time to think sounds good. He finds a place in the waiting room, a little alcove, where he sits and tries to get his hands to stop shaking. Around him, phone calls about patient's conditions go on and people are constantly rushing past. In the background CNN keeps the bad news comings. It all makes him fidget uncomfortably. Frowning, New York realizes he desperately doesn't want to be here, because the familiarity makes his scar ache. But what special brand of asshole does that make him?

"I'm still in Boston but I'm leaving for D.C. tonight. What's the latest from the FBI?"

The State gives a start as his father passes him. Hidden in the alcove, America doesn't notice his son, too engrossed in his call anyway. The nation heads to the nearby elevator, rubbing his red-rimmed eyes as he gets in. New York should call out to him, but he doesn't.

Now he should get up and go tell the nurse he's ready. He doesn't do that either.

Around fifteen minutes later, he's still in the chair. He sees two more familiar faces. Maine strides past his hiding place, her head held high but a slight tremble to her shoulders. Vermont is next to her, more clearly shaken by the way she's sniffling. Like his father the two board the elevator without ever seeing him. He doesn't call to them either, and he still can't bring himself to move.

Another fifteen and there's more. New Hampshire, Rhode Island, and Connecticut slowly make their way through the waiting room. It's clear they're exhausted, probably having been here all night. That tugs on New York's heartstrings a bit. Those three have been with her even longer than he has; they'd known her since the earliest days; they'd been through everything together. Of course, they would be here. They were there for her like he should be right now.

Swallowing he looks away.

"James."

Jumping almost a foot off his chair he looks up to see Connecticut staring down at him.

"Thomas," he returns shakily, all of his normal confidence and bravo left back in New York City.

"You need to see her," Connecticut says bluntly.

New York squirms, "You think she wants to see me? I mean she just saw all of you-"

"_You_," Connecticut cuts in, "need to see her. You, James. She's alone now, and that's good because she needs to see _**you**_."

That word (you) is a loaded one, it holds the reasons he's the one who needs to talk to her. It's because he's been through something this terrible before. Because they always know what to say to each other. Because they've been more or less in love (even if they can't admit it) for over two hundred years. Because it's _him_.

Connecticut leaves without another word and New York feels terrible. Sufficiently chastised he walks over to the nurse and tells her he's ready to go in now.

Flowers.

They're on every available surface, and the leftovers are on the floor. There are also teddy bears, balloons, and cards scattered all over the place. But New York doesn't notice them. He only sees her. Massachusetts has her back to him, looking out the hospital's window and standing eerily still.

"Hey," he says hoarsely.

No response.

Moving into the room he room he picks up a teddy bear and observes it before setting it back down.

"I saw Dad on the way in," he continues, slowly moving closer, "Hannah and Alice, too. And Thomas, Will and Henry."

She still doesn't respond.

"Looks like everyone's sent something. You could probably open up a florist shop," he's come to a stop behind her. "I'm sure everyone else will stop by soon. I know Pennsylvania's coming up tomorrow. And Jersey was just finishing up some stuff today before-"

"What's wrong?"

That's not what he expected her to say, "What?"

"You're upset. I can hear it. What's wrong?"

"Um…"

She turns and, as usual, his breath catches in his throat. Her green eyes, so similar to their grandfather's, don't hide an ounce of the grief. Those eyes take away any urge he had to lie and his shoulders slump.

"I'm upset because it reminds me and I _hate_ being reminded," his voice is shaking again; "I know how it feels Abby. I never wanted anyone, especially you, to have to feel any of that."

They don't say anything else; just somberly stare at one another.

"Three people aren't the same as over two thousand," she finally says softly.

"You think that matters," he gives a huff of laughter that has no humor; "Three people or 2,606, there were still lives taken. You were attacked, and it fucking hurts doesn't it?"

Her lower lip trembles but she nods.

"I know it hurts," New York reaches out and pulls her into his arms, "And I know a part of you can't believe it. I know you want to pretend it's a dream or forget it ever happened. But then you remember you're always going to have another scar to remind you." He can feel the bandage over her heart even now, from where they're pressed chest to chest. It'll probably be a burn, something else to go along with others. The thought makes him grip her tighter.

"Sometimes you'll be numb," he says, "You'll actually like it because that's when it won't hurt so badly. I used to think I was going crazy, and you might too. Your people are going to be grieving, and you feel it. You feel all the pain, fear, hysteria, anger, everything. And you just want it to stop but it won't, and you… you'll just felt so lost and alone Abby."

Holding his gaze, she nods again, her eyes sorrowful, "So what do I do James?"

To his embarrassment his eyes are tearing up, "You've just got to walk on. There's nothing else you can do, besides hope that the hate stops."

They're both quiet for a moment, before she breaks the fragile silence.

"I'm just so sad," she whispers, "So sad and so scared."

It's his turn to nod and a tear slips down his cheek.

"I'm scared it'll happen again," she explains, "I'm scared because I know Boston's never going to be the same. But I'm really, _really_ scared because I know these things never get better, not completely. And I don't know if I can take it anymore."

He desperately wants to tell her that she's wrong, but he can't. She's had enough tragedies to know better. And how could he lie when, right now as he closes his eyes, he still sees a low-flying plane against a bright September sky?

Opening his eyes he sees he's not the only one crying anymore.

"Why James," she sobs, "Why do these things happen? It was supposed to be a normal day, a happy day. Why does the world have to ruin everything?"

All he can do is shake his head.

"I want to know why," she buries her face into his neck, "I just want to know _why_!"

"Shhh Abbey, shh," he tries soothing her, running an unsteady hand through her hair.

"How are we even sane," she says through the gasping breathes that come with crying, "How can we deal with all this pain. It never ends, James, never fucking ends. Even after this is over something else is just going to happen. Next year, next decade, next century doesn't matter, more people will die senselessly. We know it's coming, and we're just supposed to wait for it? Then what? Just say, Oh these things happen? I don't think I can do that anymore, James. I don't _want_ to anymore."

The desperate thoughts are familiar, in the same heartbreaking way this whole ordeal is familiar.

"It's hard, it'll always be hard. But I'll be there," he murmurs, "We'll deal with it together, like always. We'll keep going on together, keep hoping. You and me, and Dad, and all the others. We can help. We love you."

She's still crying but she holds him tighter after he speaks.

Yeah, he thinks, they'll keep going together. They'll be strong together. When the next tragedy comes, because there will be another one, they will have each other, just like they always have. Life as a State is no easy thing, but it's just that, _their life_. And what else is there to do besides carry on and be strong?

Besides, he muses silently, life isn't completely terrible. They'll also continue to be there for each other during the numerous good moments. Even in the dark times there are always small beams of hope, love, and happiness. Like the people who would be so quick to rush in and help, so quick to try and do their part to make the situations better. The world really isn't a bad place, as long as you know what to concentrate on. And maybe, just maybe, someday humans would realize there was no need to cause pain such as this.

New York gives a shuddering sigh and presses a kiss to Massachusetts temple as they continue to hold each other. "The world is still good Abbey."

As terrible or as wonderful as life was they'd walk on.

_**-Oh no, be strong. Oh, oh, Walk on.-**_

**A/N:** **I pray every night that the reasons that cause these tragedies will stop. I have hope that, someday, they will. **

**Notes-**

**-As of the time I've written this there have been 3 confirmed dead and over a hundred injuries from the bombings.**

**-2,606 is the approximate number of those who died in New York on September 11****th****, 2001. Over or near three thousand people died all together.**

**-New York=James, Massachusetts=Abigail, Connecticut=Thomas, Rhode Island=Will, New Hampshire=Henry, Vermont=Hannah, Maine=Alice. Sorry for any confusion.**

**-Quotes at the beginning and end are from **_**Walk On**_** by U2.**

**-(It doesn't have to do with the story, but I thought it was too sweet to not include)The New York Yankees and Boston Red Sox are one of the most storied and heated rivalries in sports. After the bombings, the Yankees and their fans showed tremendous support for Boston, including singing the Red Sox's traditional _Sweet Caroline_ at a home game. **


End file.
